


As Long As Whitestone Lives

by Azusthra



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: All the other shite in Percy's backstory, Might have to update these tags as this goes, Oh god I'm actually posting a fic, This is your standard Fall of Whitestone fic that I couldn't get out of my head, Torture, Violence, familial death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 08:40:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8526379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azusthra/pseuds/Azusthra
Summary: Tonight when Percival ran, it wasn’t about thought. Tonight it was about fear. Fear of strangers in your halls. The fear of a seventeen year old boy watching his brother charge past his bedroom, holding a sword already slaked with blood, shouting for him to run for help as the words are cut short by a crossbow bolt.
So he ran. He didn’t get far, but he reflects later that this was probably what saved his life. It takes him a long time to decide if that was a good thing or not.





	1. Chapter 1

Percival wasn’t one to stand and fight; he preferred to think, to work his way through problems methodically, outsmarting his opponent in some way. Oh he could swing a sword almost as well as Julius could if he had a need to, but he’d always privately thought that standing and fighting usually presented too much risk, it would be best to escape and take the time to think up more clever a solution.

Tonight when Percival ran, it wasn’t about thought. Tonight it was about fear. Fear of strangers in your halls. The fear of a seventeen year old boy watching his brother charge past his bedroom, holding a sword already slaked with blood, shouting for him to run for help as the words are cut short by a crossbow bolt.

So he ran. He didn’t get far, but he reflects later that this was probably what saved his life. It takes him a long time to decide if that was a good thing or not.

***

A scream split the air like a crack of thunder, echoing through the wide halls of Whitestone, curling tendrils around his heart. Percy usually slept through thunder, he frequently slept through most loud noises, much to his parents’ annoyance, but here his eyes snapped open and he rolled to face his door, listening intently. It is a strange thing to be hearing a sound for the first time, and yet immediately knowing its meaning. A scream of frustration, a scream of laughter, of exhilaration, it was nothing compared to this outburst of pain, terror. He wasn’t entirely sure what, but he could feel the chill in his bones, his heart beginning to race.

His breath caught in his chest and he held it there, listening. Silence greeted him, unnerving now in the aftermath and he fought to control of his breathing. He silently slipped down from his high bed, feet hitting the rich rug to the side, and moved slowly judging each step with a precise caution as he eased the drawer in his bedside cabinet open to retrieve the hunting knife that Vesper had gifted him for his fourteenth birthday. A sudden bang and the echo of distant shouting had him jump and freeze for a second, half turned to the door before he wrapped the accompanying belt around his waist, dropping his shirt loosely over to conceal it.

Less concerned with silence now, he rushed for the door, as a cacophony of thuds and crashes and the distinct pad of running feet reached his ears. The door slipped open without a sound, long ago cured of an incessant creak, and he almost jumped at the shout of his name.

“Percy!” Julius shouted, racing at full tilt, sword out and dripping red onto the thick rugs, passed Percy standing in his door and called back to him. “They’re taking the castle! Find our-”

The crack of a crossbow release sounded from down the hall, followed by a low sickening gurgle as Julius’ words died in his throat. Percy watched in abject disbelief, seeing the thick white fletch on the iron bolt that protruded from the back of his brother’s neck. Julius fell, momentum carrying him forwards even as his limbs fell slack and his sword clattered to the ground. Father had given him that sword, Percy thought disjointedly, a mark of him coming of age, he’d barely been seen without it all year. Julius landed face down with a dull thump, blood pooling below him, and Percy remained frozen, staring, brain racing to process what didn’t seem possible.

The click of the crossbow about to be reloaded startled him into some degree of action and he took off running, not even sparing a glance for their attacker as he rounded the corner and heard a metallic thud of a second bolt glancing off the stone wall as he fled out of view.

These halls were his home, and having spent more than enough time with at least four siblings wanting to play hide and seek, Percy soon raced around enough corners and doors and hidden spaces to evade his unknown pursuer. He didn’t pay attention to any of the figures collapsed on the floor, not even when he thought for a second that he recognised Whitney’s hair, or spotted a familiar coat, an abandoned hunting bow scattered in the corner with the string cut. He refused to acknowledge it, and instead searched for somebody living. Somebody he recognised, who would know what to do. He raced from room to room, becoming wild in his search, holding his breath and willing his racing heart to be quiet enough to avoid detection whenever he heard the slightest noise. Staring through the crack in whichever door he hid behind, praying to recognise the person racing past, seeing unfamiliar faces, blurring into a mass, one after the other, some injured, others covered in blood with no noticeable source. Room after room, his lungs aching, ignoring the exhaustion that crept up on him.

 

Somewhere in the haze of numb panic he found himself curled against a wall, staring at a sliver of light that showed the hall beyond this room. He blinked a few times as his thoughts cleared, breath still coming fast, almost surprised by this moment of clarity. He took a deep steadying breath and slowly pushed himself to his feet, checked his waist for the dagger and breathed a sigh of relief when he found it, wedged at an angle but still in the sheath. He gripped the worn hilt for a second of reassurance; it was enough to calm his heart further, enough to almost stop the shake in his legs. He turned to the room to work out where exactly he had stowed himself and was relieved to find the familiarity of his tutor’s study. Embers still in the hearth cast a light glow against a rich dark wood desk on the opposite wall and the normality in here was confusing, almost comforting, compared to the half remembered chaos of the past hour. A sudden wave of exhaustion threatened to rob him of sense and he almost allowed himself to sink back down to the floor. Until he shook himself determinedly and pushed away from the wall, he knew Professor Anders kept a sword in here, hidden away in the corner for emergencies.

His hand closed around the hilt, exactly where he expected it, and he allowed himself a brief moment of relief as he shifted the weight of a much deadlier weapon. His brief confidence was shattered as a low voice reached him, along with two pairs of footsteps, and he froze, heart thundering in his ears.

“-gathered most all of them. I would think we can call this a success.” Percy darted his eyes around the room. The footsteps were getting rapidly closer and this room had only one exit and limited hiding spaces, in a moment of desperate futility he darted to the desk opposite the fire.

A contemplative hum came from the second person as they began to speak and Percy’s eyes widened as he recognised the voice. “Maybe so, but I wouldn’t be so quick to think this complete. Most all of them is not everyone. Who are you missing?” The professor sounded frustrated, tired, the same tone he used every time he’d caught Percy late at night messing with some ‘inconsequential’ invention in his workshop.

Battling between his need for both silence and speed Percy folded himself under the desk, a poor hiding place, but the only one on offer. He waited, eyes wide, curled in on himself to be as small as possible, chair tilted so as to divert eyes, trying not to think about the very noticeable white of his underclothes standing out like a beacon, he listened further.

“One of the young girls evaded us, we’ll track her down.” The unknown voice was clear now, haughtiness in its tone, a delay between some words as they thought through everything they said.

“Whitney or Cassandra?” said Anders, and Percy’s thoughts whirled in an attempt to process the words.

“Dark hair.” The door to the study creaked open, letting in the light of a small lantern, and Percy closed his eyes, fighting to control the tight panic that built out from his chest.

“Ah.” Percy held his breath, straining his hearing as he held his position, a uselessly sheathed sword still held tight in his hand. He heard the two footsteps enter the study and a clatter that was presumably the lantern being set on a table. “She shouldn’t be a problem. Any others?”

The second person let out a noise of annoyance. “The boy.”

“Which boy? You may have noticed, there was more than one.”

“Your little inventor, he’s been leading our men on a merry chase for over an hour.”

“Of course he has, I would expect nothing less.” There was almost a chuckle in Anders’ tone and Percy felt a flash of emotion that he’d never quite felt before, never in such an undiluted, all-encompassing sense. Anger thundered through his veins and for a very brief moment he was ready to leap from under the desk, until the scraping of something being dragged across the floor sounded from painfully close and his eyes flew open as he heard a surprised laugh. He looked up, directly into the surprised eyes of Professor Anders. “Well… that was easier than expected.” He turned to the source of the second voice, tone shifting to one of smugness. “It seems I’ve solved one of your issues Anna.”

Percy made a frantic last dive for the door and immediately felt his every muscle and joint seize up, a strained noise escaped his throat as he crashed to the floor, no way to prevent or lessen the collision. He heard more than felt something in his hand crack as it hit the floor at an angle and his stomach roiled at the noise. He could feel his muscles quivering under the strain of the paralysis, every sense heightened now as he lay prone on the ground.

“Guards. Now.” He felt the hurried footsteps rush past his head as the woman left the room and a hand hooked around his elbow pulling to place him on his back, a faint groan forced its way out as the motion pulled against the fresh injury, the pain finally hitting in a sudden sear across the outside of his hand. He was hyperventilating now; breath coming in shaking shallow gasps as his eyes darted around, straining to see the door.

“Ah Percival, you never were one of the brave ones were you?” said Anders, he sighed and gazed down at Percy with an indecipherable expression, he bent to pull the sword from Percy’s grasp, and Percy’s fingers released without resistance, his eyes growing wider in panic. “I imagine you’ll come to regret that particular trait.”

A string of incomprehensible noises spilled forth from behind Percy’s lips and Anders merely shook his head. “No point in trying that.” He looked back to the door, and Percy heard the approach of more people, saw the light in the room grow brighter as the door swung open again and he strained to look up towards the door again. Anders bent and Percy’s stomach sank like a stone as he felt him deftly unbuckle the belt that was still snug around his waist. A brief pat down of his limbs after that and Anders stood, satisfied.

“Well. I think that takes care of everything.” Anders nodded once towards the door and Percy felt his muscles relax, control returning to him at last, but too late. As a rough hand clamped down on his arm, a second on the other side as two figures blocked his view of the ceiling and hauled him upright, forcing his hands behind him, heightening the burning ache spreading up his left arm. He felt another wrench in his hand and cried out, as he instinctively began to fight the two guards off, that was more than enough to deter any further struggle.

Anders cleared his throat and Percy looked back at him, lips a tight line, partly in pain, partly in defiance. Seeing this, Anders simply nodded at the guards and they turned to the hall, half carrying, half marching Percy out of the study.

 

His resolve not to dignify them with talking broke before they reached the stairs, indignation and confusion and anger bubbling to the surface.

“What do you want?” The question was met with indifference from his escorts. “Why are you here?” Again, silence.

They descended the stairs fast, when Percy stumbled they simply lifted him by his arms and carried him down. They turned left at the bottom of the stairs, heading for a small archway that led off the entrance hall. He already knew that this was where they were likely heading, but having chosen not to listen to the voice at the back of his head which had been babbling in fear since Anders walked into the study. Percy listened now and panicked, started to struggle again, setting his feet as best he could. Another mercenary stepped up out of the archway ahead and looked at the struggling guards expectantly, he barely noticed, just renewed his efforts, encouraged by the escorts pause, he bit his lip as he fought to ignore the searing pain from inside his hand. He felt the guard to his left shift slightly and heard the slide of a blade being drawn from a leather sheath, half a moment later a hilt collided with the back of his head. His vision flashed to black, and Percy went limp for a second, only remaining upright due to the hands holding him on either side. As his sight faded back in and his consciousness fought back through the sudden nausea, he felt the guards dragging him towards and down the stairs to Whitestone's dungeons. Too woozy to struggle or barely even walk, his feet thudded down each step.

The sour smell of musty hay assaulted his nose as soon as they passed through the final door. Greeted by one low flickering torch near yet another guard working his way through a large bowl of stew, the guard absently gestured towards the right. They followed his direction and rounded a corner, coming to a row of cell doors stood open and waiting. Dizzy nausea rose again in a wave, a sick combination of anxiety and a building concussion as he weakly attempted to struggle again. The guards simply dragged Percy in, deposited him in a heap in the centre of a cell, and made short work of chaining his hands to a long single chain connected to a large ring deeply embedded in the stone wall of the cell. Their efficiency was perhaps the scariest thing about these men, and Percy shrank back as best he could. The guards turned then and stepped out of the cell, the door clanging and echoing through the chamber as they fitted a large padlock around a loop from the wall to the bars of the door. Percy watched them go, his head reeling from more than just the injury, and successfully discouraging most attempts at movement. His eyes glinted in the fading light, eyelids slipping closed as they took the torch with them, and he was left, alone in the dark.


	2. Chapter 2

Percy woke to a dull pulsing ache in his hand, which immediately revealed itself to be a deep sharp pain as soon as he moved, and an inherent wrongness somewhere in the bone to the side of his hand. He gingerly flexed his fingers, and made a small hiss as the pain flared and his fingers refused to close further. He took a deep shaky breath and released it slowly, trying to stave off the breakdown that he could feel coming in the twisting of his stomach.

Now that he was sharply aware of the ache in his hand, lesser pains were making themselves known, a coldness that had settled deep into his limbs, a tight ache in his back and shoulders from a body unaccustomed to the lack of a down filled mattress. And lingering slow throb in his head, radiating out from the back to settle just behind his eyes. There was an intense weariness to every movement he forced himself to make and he stifled a groan as he shifted slightly and reawakened areas that had turned numb from the cold. He could feel his heart beginning to race again, and took another deep steadying breath, held it for a few seconds before he let it escape again and reluctantly cracked his eyes open.

The view before him danced, shadows flickering across his face and he blinked in confusion. His vision clarified on a single torch placed in a loop on the wall, flames on the edge of dying cast an uncertain light through the thick bars of the cell door. The low fluttering noise of the flames seemed to grow louder with each passing second of relative quiet and Percy resisted the urge to cover his ears, and instead took stock of all he could see, eyes darting from corner to corner. The other cells in view seemed to be empty and open, he wasn’t sure if that was vaguely threatening or somewhat reassuring, an aged and somewhat damp straw was scattered across the floor of his cell and collected into one corner with a slight promise of a more tolerable sleeping. He watched that corner for a number of minutes, discomfort warring with a deep exhaustion before the cold became too much and he moved.

He rapidly decided against standing, instead he began to awkwardly shuffle one handed across the floor to the far corner. Immediately he froze, panic setting in as his movement rattled the chains, discordant clinking enough to bring the reality of his situation to the forefront of his mind in a way that he had been fighting against. He stared into the corner, not seeing the stone or the wavering light. His thoughts whirled in circles as his breath came shallow and fast and his heart thundered in his ears, his hand burning as he reflexively tried to pull out of the irons. The blood in his veins seemed to turn to cold water, washing through him in waves as any rational thought faded and he saw Julius fall, saw Cassandra dragged from a hiding place, Whitney’s eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling and all the while Anders watched him smugly, face twisting into a laugh that echoed.

 

Percy had no way of measuring how long he stared, half sat with his legs caught under him. The next thought he formed with any coherence was of the tightness in his chest, the cramp in his limbs, the fresh line of fire from the abrasion of the rough metal that comprised the irons which were, despite his desperate efforts, still securely fastened around his wrists. He blinked a number of times, breathing deeply, focusing on the slow expansion of his chest, scraping control of his body back piece by piece. Gradually he remembered, or rather his cramped and sore legs reminded him, that he had been about to move to the marginally more comfortable far corner of the cell. With careful slow movements, and a futile effort to not jostle his fragile swelling hand, he made it the scant feet to the piled straw and sat with his back leaned to the wall. He brought his knees up, cradling his hand as best he could, and dropped his head back against the rough stone with his eyes closed.

He’d never broken a bone before. He was sure now that this had happened, through the disturbing instability in his hand, and the pain that radiated in waves down his arm. He’d had plenty of nasty bruises from archery, a badly sprained ankle from an awkward and rushed dismount from his horse. When he was 11 he’d gained a solid burn on his leg from an unprotected bed warmer that had been absently left there. He'd cried at that one, deep heaving sobs until a cleric had rushed in to sooth the angry welt, but those memories we’re long faded now, along with any marks they’d left. There was something markedly and obviously different from a sudden injury fussed over by parents or siblings, which could be healed away through magic or careful tending, or ignored by focusing on more interesting pastimes.

Curling in on himself further, Percy struggled for a distraction, something to focus on other than the gnawing ache ever-present and seeming to worsen with every pulse of his heart. A tear hit his hand, before he even realised he was shedding them. With that one, the dam broke, and he cried, silent and exhausted, for probably the first time in three years. He cried for the death he knew, for the ones he suspected deep in his heart, for betrayal and for the despairing desire for this to not be his end, along with the building conviction that it would be.

 

The concept of time with no access to the sky was nebulous at best, so Percy had no inkling of how long it had been, or how long he wept into the corner before he fell asleep. He didn’t even remember drifting away again into unconsciousness, but when he woke again, curled on his side in the sour hay, he found a quiet resolve that had not been there last he remembered. A clarity to his thoughts that had been missing as he thought through his situation, he carefully sat up and leaned back against the wall again, a grim determination settling into his shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short one, but next chapter is a-coming.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on my endless pit of emotions about Percy's backstory, and my desperate need to write down angst to get it out of my head.
> 
> Not sure how in depth I'm going to go through the next canonical week of this delightful time in Percy's life. Depends on how, hah, strong I'm feeling as I write it.
> 
> Also wow this is the first time I'm posting fic since I was fourteen, I have no beta and I write this at 5am most of the time, so mistakes will probably abound. Here's hoping this goes well.


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